


Finding Daylight

by trashcatpaige



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons), Trollhunters - Daniel Kraus & Guillermo del Toro
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, Barbara is still Jim's mom, Canon-Typical Violence, Changeling Politics, Changeling!Jim, Constant screaming in terror, Cursed jewelry, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everything is on fire, Found Families, Gen, Identity Issues, It will come together later, Janus Order, Jim is a master at rule 1, Near Death Experiences, Polymorph Jim?, Polymorph lore, Polymorphs - Freeform, Saving everyone this time around, Toby is a ride or die friend, but kanjigar, look how much trauma we can fit into this boy!, sorry - Freeform, trollhunter jim
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-05-18 10:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19333138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashcatpaige/pseuds/trashcatpaige
Summary: Jim held a piece of their future in his hands... One of the last fragments of the Killahead Bridge.As a Changeling, he should be jumping for joy!Unfortunately, fate had other plans in the form of some meddlesome trolls that just wouldn't mind their own business, a human boy who desperately wanted to be his friend for some reason, and an amulet that decided to give him a death sentence.No one really asked Jim what he wanted in all of this... but he'd figure it out along the way, when Bular wasn't trying to rip his legs off.





	1. Walk the Stars to Find Daylight

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank everyone at the Trollhunter's Discord server, cause y'all is the nicest most supportive bunch of people ever.
> 
> Also Dan, whom I hope never finds my embarrassing fanfiction, even though they're awesomely hyped about my writing.
> 
> I hope to keep posting as much as I can for this fic, as this is a tiny fandom and WE NEED CONTENT!

If there happened to be a list of Janus Order members by rank, from those of highest importance to lowest, at the top of that list would be Waltolomew Stricklander; the Changeling who regularly looked Bular in the eyes and lived to tell about it. The leader of the Order itself, who mowed down anyone that threatened his position.

 

Directly below Stricklander, would be Otto Scaarbach, one of the only two active Polymorphs in the world. Master of a thousand faces, and second in command only by Stricklander’s will.

 

Now, if you looked all the way at the bottom of that list, in last place would be the goblins, and right above them, though it was a close call, was Jim.

 

“You have to focus,” Otto insisted

 

“I’m trying! Nothing is happening!”

 

“Well, try harder!”

 

“How does one _try_ to change _harder_?”

 

“You just do!”

 

Jim shouted in exasperation, throwing his hands up. Otto took this as an opportunity to pull up a chair, still focused on the novel in his hands. This was how it always went. His mentor gave him unhelpful advice while reading or doing paperwork, leaving Jim struggling to shift between forms.

 

“Look, _Junge,_ ” Otto frowned, setting his book on his lap. “You just need to keep practicing, _ja_? You managed to unlock one familiarless human form when you were nine, so you obviously have the potential to shift into more.”

 

"But what if I can't? What if I'm just not a Polymorph?" Jim asked glancing around the office. Anywhere but his mentor.

 

"Nonsense!" Otto stood, shifting into a mirror image of Jim. "You're just stuck in your ways. So focused on the form you have, rather than what you can become."

 

Jim tried again, focusing on Otto's favorite human disguise. Glasses, stupid hat, and all. Digging deep, he pulled on a familiar source of power in his bones. In a burst of light he shifted…

 

Back into his troll form.

 

Jim sighed in defeat, snatching up his cloak and bag. As usual, Otto looked disappointed at his lack of progress.

 

"Are you sure that I'm a Polymorph? How old were you when," Jim gestured to himself, "you know, figured it out?"

 

"That doesn't matter, _Junge_ ," Otto diverted the subject as he changed back, placing a hand on Jim's shoulder.

 

Which absolutely meant that he was younger than Jim when he displayed his full abilities.

 

Jim brushed Otto's hand off and headed towards the door. He'd spent nearly an hour extra on his training session with Otto, which meant his deliveries were going to run late if he kept wasting time.

 

"Look Otto, I'm just too busy to practice right now. I have duties to the Order, and frankly, I could be using this time to be learning _actual_ skills," Jim reasoned, opening up the door into the hallway.

 

"My knife throwing is poor, I have virtually no combat training, and I could have been in the cafeteria eating instead of staring at you for two hours.” Jim said behind his shoulder as Otto caught up to walk beside him.

 

“Have you been skipping meals, James? You look like you’re losing weight,” Otto commented, giving him a pitying look.

 

Jim rolled his eyes, shoving his mentor lightly as a door slid open, taking them to another identical hall of sterile white. “I don’t have time to eat. I haven’t even showered, in like, _three days!_ ”

 

They passed a few Order members in their black masks, and once they were out of earshot, Jim continued. Anything could be reported as treason afterall, and Changelings were not the loyalist bunch, especially when it came to competition.

 

“Don’t you ever wonder if there’s more to life than stealing and pretending to be someone you’re not?” Jim asked. He had so many drop-offs to make tonight, and so little time. Why couldn’t the Order just use the postal service like everyone else?

 

 _Scratch that - getting a piece of the Killahead Bridge lost in the mail is possibly the worst thing that could happen with that. Considering they needed_ _every. Single. Piece._

 

“You’re getting a little discouraged, _ja?_ ” Otto pushed. “Polymorphs age much quicker than other Changelings, since we needn’t be physically bound to a familiar. Soon, you’ll be old enough to pass for a college student.”

 

Otto waved his hand flippantly. “We’ll forge some documents and place you somewhere, then you won’t want for anything.”

 

“If it even comes to that,” Jim mumbled, as Otto clapped him on the back. “The bridge should be finished in a few more months, so I just have to work extra hard. The faster the tiniest fragments get to the museum, the sooner we all can be free.”

 

“That’s the spirit!” Otto laughed, taking a turn towards the elevator. “Speaking of the bridge, I almost forgot to tell you, I’m going off for a while in search of one of the final pieces. I should be out of the country for quite a bit, depending how tricky our mission proves to be.”

 

“Oh,” Jim furrowed his brow, frowning further at the news. Otto reached over Jim to press the elevator button. “When… do you think you’ll be back?”

 

“You worry too much. Focus on your work, you have my number if anything goes wrong,” Otto replied.

 

The elevator dinged open, and his mentor pushed him inside.

 

Typical. Otto loved to talk in circles.

 

“I’ll do my best,” Jim ended, just as the doors closed.

 

This was going to be a long night.

 

* * *

 

Jim hopped from rooftop to rooftop, enjoying the taste of the wind and the fresh scent of the nearby forest. Two letters delivered, three more to go, and he was behind by a good bit of time if the movement of the moon was correct.

 

There were few things that Jim enjoyed when working for the Order. The pay was crappy, the hours were unforgiving, and their boss would bite his head off if he messed up bad enough. _Literally._

 

But the night, he thrived in the night. The feel of concrete and dirt beneath his feet, the clear skies, the freedom of it all. For his first fifteen or so years of life, this was what made him feel not so alone. Not like an interloper on society. It made him almost forget that he was an _Impure._

 

Some part of him figured that it was his troll blood that sung for the coolness of dusk, as daytime never seemed to have the same effect on him. Too warm, too bright, too many people to look through him. His human skin never felt right to him, no matter how much time he spent in it.

 

Jim finally got the privilege of leaving the Order’s headquarters at age ten, nearly a year after he unlocked his only human form. Before that, he was confined to the base, often locked away where he wouldn’t get underfoot. A Changeling who couldn’t change was a liability, regardless of their dormant Polymorph status. His only reprieve from the loneliness were his training sessions with Otto, or the rare times his rotating minders allowed him to scrub the floors.

 

The second he was permitted to go out as a delivery boy, Jim grasped the opportunity with greedy hands, never looking back.

Jim jumped on a lamppost, skillfully walking the metal stem as he rolled into a flip, landing on the sidewalk.

 

A few more back alley shortcuts, and he was home free.

 

Jim cut through a thin gap, scrabbling up a plank fence between the buildings. He jogged, cutting a corner, before slowing to a stop as a large troll meandered across the road. Jim ducked behind a table in front of a cafe.

 

_“Lady Creator, is that…”_

 

Standing tall and definitely about to eat a raccoon, was _General Aarghaumont._

 

While it was rumored that the general defected to the enemy side so he could live the life of a pacifist, Jim wasn't willing to test that theory.

 

Especially after seeing what the troll was doing to that poor raccoon.

 

_Why was he outside of Trollmarket? Did that mean the Trollhunter was out and about too?_

 

Jim jumped, banging his head on the underside of the metal table as his phone buzzed. He covered his mouth to smother a yelp, never taking his eyes off of the ex Gumm-Gumm warrior. Jim dug through his bag, ignoring the unfortunate titters of the doomed raccoon as he retrieved his cell phone.

 

He was very, very late.

 

Jim quietly scooted out from underneath his hiding spot, carefully lifting up a chair so it wouldn’t scrape against the concrete as he moved it.

 

As soon as he was free from the jungle of metal legs, Jim darted down another alley, knuckles tight around the strap of his bag. He would have giggled from the terror of it all, but the impending punishment for his tardiness pressed down on his chest like a weight.

 

“I am _so_ late. The Order’s gonna kill me!”

 

* * *

 

 

“Bad idea,” Aaarrrgghh insisted, pushing a dumpster full of old books farther into the alleyway.

 

“Nonsense, it's a perfectly calm night!” Blinky said back. “Clear, no chance of rain, not too humid-”

 

Aaarrrgghh huffed at him, gesturing to the garbage bins and wooden slats filled with discarded books, and just as Blinky lifted the lid of one of the dumpsters, Aaarrrgghh rounded the side to lower it back down.

 

To be fair, it honestly was a nice night. A perfect time for a walk around the surface. The human population was particularly quiet that evening, there were no wayward stragglers to disturb them, no Gumm-Gumm activity. And it definitely _didn’t_ have to do with the Arcadia Public Library clearing out their damaged and _‘outdated’_ stock that morning.

 

Blinky scoffed at the word, destroying a valuable piece of literature, of history, because a language changed? Because of a few small stains or frayed edges?

 

Blinky ignored Aaarrrgghh’s worried frown, opening the other end of the garbage bin to fish out some worn books. “Bular has been absent as of late, left to retreat, licking his metaphorical and literal wounds after his last clash with Master Kanjigar, so it _really_ can’t hurt to come out for one night.”

 

 _“One_ night,” yielded Aaarrrggh reluctantly.

 

“Brilliant, my dear friend,” Blinky clapped a pair of hands together, the others already full of weathered books. “Now why don’t you hand me…”

 

“Going to look for food,” Aaarrrggh replied, sauntering past Blinky and out of the alleyway.

 

_Ah yes, still very upset and not on board with this idea._

 

Blinky watched him go for a moment, before turning back to the stacks of books. What a shame. All this access to knowledge, only to throw it away when it was deemed irrelevant for the current times. There were three full slats of books, a few small garbage cans, and a whole dumpster of the most damaged literature. All left behind Arcadia’s Public Library for pickup when morning came.

 

He turned over a book in his hands, the leather cover faded, but kept in rather pristine condition. Blinky frowned as he carefully returned it to the large wooden pallet; while it was a unique edition of one he already had somewhere in his library, and a crime to allow it to be destroyed, he could only carry so much.

 

A travesty that humans, short-lived as they were, couldn’t understand the value of something before it was lost to time.

 

“Oh, by Deya’s Grace!” Blinky’s hand fluttered over the spine of a particularly rare copy of _Runes Through the Ages._ His ear flickered at a scampering noise, but he wrote it off, as no one seemed to care enough to watch over books destined for a landfill.

 

Blinky excitedly flipped through the pages, unable to keep his elation to himself. “I cannot wait to get back to the keep, Vendel will be so jealous, I doubt even he has such a rarity in his collection - and Aaarrrgghh, he cannot be upset once he’s seen what I’ve found!”

 

A few more books went into his bag, as he could not remember the last time he was granted such a wonderful opportunity. Blinky lifted his satchel over his shoulder as he turned around; he just couldn’t believe his luck -

 

 _“I am so late. The Order’s gonna kill me!”_ A voice hissed, before a hooded figure skidded into the alley.

 

Blinky discreetly slipped into a smaller adjoining alley, hidden between the cluttered library stock. After centuries of ducking whenever a human could spot him, it was almost like muscle memory to melt into the shadows.

 

Blinky observed a small, cloaked child jog down the alley from his hiding spot. Thankfully, he was unaware of his presence, caught up in whatever had him rushing about at night. He barely had time to ponder why an unsupervised human child would be out so late, when said child's cloak caught on the ragged wood of one of the book pallets.

 

At the speed the whelp was running, his legs were ripped out from underneath him as the fabric yanked him back by the throat. Blinky winced when the child was sent sprawling into his back, coughing for air.

 

There was an ominous creaking, the wooden frame, filled with books, tilted forward from the force - the human child laying in the direction it was tipping.

 

Before Blinky could think, his legs were propelling him to the fallen child, who had in turn, put his hands up to defend against falling books. Regardless, the wooden slat would crush his fragile body if the weight of the books didn't.

 

Blinky snatched the child up from under his arms, right out of the path of the collapsing pallet. The whelp's cloak was untangled, coming loose over his shoulders to droop down his back. Blinky shielded them both as the wooden frame collided with the fire escape on the opposite building, jolting a ladder out of place and nearly ripping the outcropping of metal from the brick wall.

 

Hopefully, the horrid screeching and deafening slams alerted Aaarrrgghh to his predicament, because he did not plan ahead further than this. Blinky was grateful that the area around the library was deserted during the night hours. He took a moment to glance at the panting child, trembling in possible shock.

 

 _Well, mostly deserted_ …

 

The slat had splintered from the crash, fire escape partially connected to the building by a few bolts, but mostly twisted apart to settle over the sagging frame of the pallet. Books and metal carnage littered the ground, spilling out like an explosion of chaos.

 

"It's quite alright," Blinky assured the child, trying to keep the waver from his voice. He looked down to the mop of black hair again, the child basically in his lap, giving the most reassuring, nonthreatening smile he could muster.

 

In return the whelp scrambled away from him, over the shards of metal and splinters. The child scooted up until his back rested on the plastic remains of the pallet's saran wrap cover. Blinky caught the scent of blood.

 

Blinky's eyes were on the boy's hands, not bothering to catch his face as he reached to gently take them into his own. The child flinched away when Blinky turned over his palms, littered with sharp debris. He automatically began to work on the hand with the worst damage, trying to take his mind off the fact that he had been _seen._

 

"Now, look what you've done to yourself," he chided, picking a few large pieces from the child's blueish hands. "Lucky for you, the shards are not embedded too deep-"

 

It dawned on him.

 

Blinky froze, the smile slipping from his face.

 

He looked up to a pair of glowing blue eyes.

 

Dark claws from the creature's free hand gouged the plastic and wood frame of the slate he was leaning on, and the being’s pupils shrunk to pins as he seemed to stun, like a squirrel confronted by a cat. Or at least Blinky hoped that he was the cat…

 

For a few seconds, the pair stared at each other, before slowly, blue stripes began to light up on the creature’s arms and dance across freckles dotting the bridge of its nose; like stars twinkling on a clear night.

 

If the boy was hidden in the darkness before, the bioluminescent glow of his markings gave away any hope of anonymity.

 

Other than his blackened claws, the young boy (or troll?) had matching adolescent horns, barely poking out from beneath his mop of dark hair. Two tusks emerged from his bottom lip, and his trollish ears twitched toward Blinky. Unusually, his nose and brow seemed human-like, decorated with those interesting freckles unbeknownst to any species of troll Blinky had come across. Though trolls in the deeper caverns often presented bioluminescent traits, they were large in mass, not sickly thin with pronounced skeletal bone structure. Thick, banded stripes climbed up the boy’s arms, but before Blinky could get a better look, the boy snapped out of his stupor, pulling his dark cloak around his shoulders, and shrouding his head with a hood.

 

He closed the cloak with a _click_ ; a silver clasp shaped like an eye sitting between his breastbone, the lights on his arms smothered, but the spackling on his face still flickering.

 

_A Changeling..._

 

Blinky cleared his throat, which caused the boy to pull his legs into a crouched stance, ready to bolt at a moments notice. Unless he decided to just pounce on him and claw all his eyes out, because those claws _did_ look exceptionally sharp.

 

It was a fifty-fifty chance.

 

 _A Changeling child? Their kind hadn’t been seen since the battle of Killahead, presumed to be wiped out in the war._ He rose to his feet, taking a few steps back as he willed Aaarrrgghh to hurry up. There was no telling what their numbers could be, or for that matter, how they managed to smuggle a whelp out from under a heartstone unnoticed.

 

Oh well, _a life of never,_ he frantically reassured himself. He had to stall for time.

 

“Well, salutations young,” Blinky coughed, grimacing, “Boy? Whelp?”

 

Blinky’s hands were clammy as he readjusted the strap of his suddenly-too-heavy-chafing-bad-decision-making satchel. An awkward pause ensued between them, the only response from the boy being the glide of lights along his nose.

 

“Is that how you communicate? A secret coded speak, through the illumination of your skin?” Blinky took a step forward, tilting his head at the patterns.

 

The boy ruffled up at that, the patterns dying out instantaneously as he furrowed his brow. “Are you mocking me?” he asked, a hard edge to his young voice. Blinky observed the boy’s ears dart back in displeasure, much like a petulant young whelp would react to being pulled from the front lines of battle.

 

The boy's eyes darted back to the blocked exit of the alleyway, and then past Blinky to the remaining one behind him, searching for an escape route.

 

“Of course not,” Blinky said as he tried to block the whelp's view of the street by shuffling to the middle of the passage.“I apologize for any offence I may have incurred-”

 

"Look, I don't want any trouble," the boy cut him off, holding his hands out in a placating gesture. "Just forget that you saw me."

 

"Blinky?" Aaarrrgghh called out from the sidewalk somewhere behind him."Heard crash?"

 

Relief rushed through his body, and he took his eyes off the boy for a second to peek over his shoulder.

 

The sound of rushing fabric and a glint of silver were the only warnings Blinky was given, before the Changeling whelp hurled himself at him.

 

Blinky put his arms up as a small knife clashed against stone, sending up a shower of sparks. He heard Aaarrrgghh roar behind him, the boy's feral eyes meeting his; a mix of apprehension and terror on his face, rather than malicious bloodlust.

 

The whelp put his full weight into the strike, using the momentum to lift himself off the ground, twisting his body into a clumsy leap away from Blinky. He landed hard on top of a dumpster, recovering enough to hop onto a remaining pallet.

 

The Changeling slipped more throwing knives into his bloody hands, Aaarrrgghh changed direction to barrel into Blinky just in time to protect him from a flurry of poorly aimed blades. They may have bounced off stone skin, but would do irreparable damage to eyes, and there was no guarantee that a random knife in the medley wasn't laced with Creeper Sun poison.

 

While they were distracted, the boy picked up speed, skittering down the descending stacks on all fours, attempting to outpace them. Aaarrrgghh cut him off, blocking the unclogged exit.

 

The whelp's markings flashed blue as he tried to catch his breath from atop the last slat in the alley. He stared down Aaarrrgghh challenging him to try to come up and get him.

 

Blinky huffed at the weight of his book heavy satchel, as he struggled to reach the whelp before he panicked further. “Wait, I haven’t even introduced myself!”

 

All he managed to do was distract Aaarrrgghh, the boy giving him one final glare before crouching low, pouncing over his old friend and into the road ahead. Blinky rushed to Aaarrrgghh, gasping for air as he pointed to the fleeing figure.

 

"Grab the Changeling! We need proof for Vendel!" He shouted, and they both took off after the boy, albeit Blinky lagging behind hopelessly.

 

The whelp bolted across the road on all fours in a desperate sprint, nearly getting hit by a car that swerved inches from his head. The human driver didn't stop, probably brushing the boy off as a dog. Once the child reached the other side of the barren road, car long gone, he pirouetted, lobbing his remaining throwing knives at the duo.

 

They both stopped to shield their faces from the barrage, a few blades actually sticking fast into Aaarrrgghh's stone arms. They were barely halfway through the intersection, when the boy darted into the treeline.

 

They had no chance of catching him in the woods. A climber that one was.

 

Aaarrrgghh grunted, his expression solemn as he brushed off the blades protruding from his arms. They fell uselessly to the pavement. His friend undoubtedly knew they had no hope of tracking the Changeling down before sunrise, especially if the boy changed forms. The scent trail would be unreliable at best.

 

"We must tell Master Kanjigar there are Changelings in Arcadia," Blinky said, taking note of his friend's upset demeanor. "Vendel might be able to offer advice as well."

 

"Child," Aaarrrgghh replied.

 

"I know, but it is our sacred duty to inform the Trollhunter of this development." Blinky matched his hesitance, negative outcomes immediately swirling in his mind.

 

They both knew what happened to Changelings that were caught by trolls, and what fate awaited the whelp if Trollmarket was alerted to his existence. Blinky patted Aaarrrgghh's arm, before they both began the silent trek home; hearts heavy with dread.

 

* * *

 

“Are you certain of what you saw?” Asked Kanjigar, leaning over the healing dwell’s examination slab - turned into a makeshift table for their meeting.

 

“Yes,” Blinky reaffirmed, taking another sip of his drink. The light of the Heartstone was soothing his nerves, but the impending sense of wrong still sat hard in the pit of his stomach. “A Changeling child in Arcadia. We attempted to capture him, but he managed to escape into the surrounding forest before the opportunity arose.”

 

“Dare I ask why we are entertaining such delusions,” Vendel interjected tonelessly, and Blinky had to duck to avoid getting hit by his staff. “Everything is a conspiracy theory to you,” he glared at Blinky. “Yesterday, you claimed a gruesome had invaded Trollmarket. Last week, it was the gnomes only stealing left shoes.”  

 

Kanjigar made a low sound in the back of his throat, reclining back into his seat with a troubled expression. Blinky evaded another swipe from Vendel’s walking staff, pressing forward.

 

“Where there is one, there must be more. I believe that the only reason we were able to spot this one at all is because it is a whelp, older Impures would not make the same mistake of being seen,” Blinky reasoned. “If they truly are growing in numbers, it is an omen of worse to come.”

 

“This is blasphemous,” Vendel snapped, catching a few jars of medicine as Aaarrrgghh accidentally bumped them off a shelf. “Even if you encountered a Changeling, it could not be a whelp. Our young are well protected, their disappearances would not go unnoticed.”

 

“Is this true?” Kanjigar looked to Aaarrrgghh, voice grave.

 

Aaarrrgghh nodded seriously and the group fell silent around the table. The ex-general was not one for feeding into hearsay, even if it was for Blinky. He was sure before he made a decision, and rarely confirmed what he was not one hundred percent certain of.

 

Everyone knew the severity of whelps possibly going missing. They had yet to even replenish their population lost to the previous war. Trolls had been reluctant to have children for centuries after, the sting and fear of losing young still fresh. News like that could incite a full blown panic. Vendel had a glower as he stacked his medicines back on the shelf, clearing his throat to break the tension.

 

“Are you sure,” Vendel tried again. “Changelings are physically bound by their familiar’s age. Is there any possibility that it was just one with a younger familiar?”

 

“Physical size does not alter scent,” Blinky stated, Aaarrrgghh agreeing with a hum. “I was close enough to assure you, it was a child, adolescent hormones and all.”

 

“You know what this means,” Vendel relented, sitting down with a slouch, a rare moment where his age showed. Kanjigar was quiet, contemplating the information and surely forming a plan of action.

 

Their Trollhunter never missed a step.

 

“Vendel, is there something you can do to help capture the Changeling?” Kanjigar asked, finishing off his drink. “Our best bet is going for the whelp, he was young enough to make inexperienced mistakes, so he could make more.”

 

“I can spell a necklace that can only be removed by troll hands, but I do not know what good that would do you in trapping the Impure,” Vendel groaned, rubbing his brow. “Maybe a chain of sorts…”

 

“No, the necklace would be perfect,” Kanjigar said, undeterred by the questioning looks he was receiving. “Now, Blinky and Aaarrrgghh, I need you to obtain a Gaggletack and put it through the furgolator.”

 

“But why, what would that do?” Blinky waved his hands. “How would making a Gaggletack smaller help us on our mission?”

 

Kanjigar barked out a laugh.

 

“Size does not lessen magical potency. If we add the shrunken artifact to the hexed necklace, we can effectively trap the Changeling whelp in his troll form,” Kanjigar explained. “Once he cannot change, we take him to Trollmarket and interrogate him for information on others of his kind. We may be able to figure out what Bular is plotting before he can set it into action.”

 

Blinky and Aaarrrgghh frowned at the plan. While it was great for them, as the boy would not be hard to track down, it was not good for the Changeling.

 

“And if the whelp doesn’t talk,” Blinky voiced, clasping his hands together. “Also, what about after the questioning? What will be done with him?”

 

Kanjigar saw where this line of ‘what ifs’ was going. He stood up, summoning his armor, shoulders set in a way that made him look like he was carrying all the burdens of the world upon his back. Aaarrrgghh already seemed deeply unsettled by the answer they had yet to receive, and Blinky could not say he wasn’t disturbed by it either.

 

“We will cross that bridge when we come to it,” Kanjigar deflected, standing before them. “Until then, no one will go to the surface without my escort.”

  



	2. The Beginning of an End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Jim is in way more danger than he realizes.

Jim waited a full week before going out on deliveries again.

 

If it had been up to him at the time, Jim would have thrown in the towel and begged Otto to have him placed early, somewhere far from Arcadia and Trollmarket. He had one human form after all, which would be sufficient for cover as a high school student somewhere. 

 

But unfortunately life wasn’t that simple. 

 

The moment Jim accepted his role in the Order at ten years old, he was recognized as an adult among his peers. There was no safety net for Changelings, and he traded away the little security he had for his right to roam. If he failed at his tasks, there would be no one to stop Bular from eating him - most likely limbs first.

 

In the first days he was wrought with panic, ready to curl up in a ball and die at any given moment. His anxiety spiked with every report, every ding of the elevator. If the trolls found their way to the Order, they’d rip him apart just as easily as Bular. If the other Changelings found out he exposed their kind, he could be tried for treason and executed.

 

But as the time passed, Jim itched for the wind on his face and the power to run as far as his legs could take him. It also didn’t help that he blew through his scant savings on food for that week. Fear just wasn’t going to fill his stomach.

 

He started small, first purely in his human form during daytime. His workload was hard to handle as it was, but with the loss of his troll form and night time roaming, it was downright impossible to keep up. As a human, Jim couldn't go hopping up buildings or running marathons. He was weak and lost most of his stamina.

 

Being confined to day shifts left him with few opportunities to get his deliveries done.

 

As much as he wanted to stay careful - as in never going out after sundown again - the notion was a luxury he couldn’t afford to entertain. 

 

Once he finished his first week of human deliveries (and at that point, Jim would have killed for a bicycle) he started to toe the line. During the night he varied between his human and Changeling forms for short bursts, climbing up rain gutters here and there or occasionally using his enhanced speed to dart across a few alleys. Regardless, there wouldn’t be enough of a scent trail to track him reliably.  

 

Even with all his risks, by the second week, Jim was running on empty.

 

Exhausted, practically dead on his feet, he somehow managed to hoist himself up into one of his favorite trees. Jim yawned and collapsed on a thick branch, sliding into a hollow that ran deep into the wood of the trunk. The foliage was thick enough that there was sufficient cover for his troll form, as long as he kept the stupid stripes on his arms from lighting up. 

 

Jim rubbed his tired eyes, enjoying the sunset through the forest. Everything was bathed in a soothing shade of orange, the shadows growing long with the last wisps of evening. He felt that was going to be a cool night, as the temperature was dropping quickly before the light had faded. Jim curled his legs close, turning the fragment of stone in his hands.

 

He sighed looking at the fragment of Killahead in his palm, one of the final pieces left before its completion. The piece was small, a tad bigger than a softball. The edges were jagged, but the face was smooth and dark; an outstretched tendril of a hand etched in the middle. The Order had spent centuries collecting every stone, and the tiniest rocks had given them the most trouble.

 

Jim’s ears flickered toward the figure trodding through the grass, coming up to stare at him from the base of the tree, a paper bag in hand.

 

“I know I should be used to it by now,” he said down to her, trying not to let his eyelids droop shut. “I mean, Otto’s out of the country more than he’s in it.”

 

Nomura hopped up beside him, balancing like a bird on his branch.

 

“You’re soft, Little Gynt,” she said with an amused glint in her eyes. “Now, how long do you think you’ll be able to keep this up?”

 

Jim pulled his cloak up, mood somehow souring more.  “There’s not much I can do, Nomura. I can’t risk those trolls following me and the only way to do that is to stay in my human form when I'm on the move,” he explained. “With Otto leaving tonight, I know my workload is going to get worse.”

 

Jim turned to bury his face in the hollow of the tree, trying to mask his flush of embarrassment. Like a child, he was already missing Otto. His mentor was finally boarding a plane to another country, far away to someplace Jim wasn’t even cleared to know about. Other than Nomura, the Changelings at the Order were ruthless. That was saying something, considering how stab-happy and vindictive Nomura was on the best of days. It was a cutthroat business they dabbled in; full of espionage and mercenary work. 

 

Jim knew, as well as anyone, that the second Otto was out of the picture it was open season on him. Being a possible Polymorph painted a big red target on his back, and Changelings would pounce on the opportunity like starving dogs. 

 

 _Power_ equated to safety.

 

 _Usefulness_ meant security.

 

 _Uniqueness_ boosted value.

 

Every Changeling wanted these things and would sabotage anyone in their way to get them.

 

His thoughts were effectively interrupted by Nomura who decided to lean against his hollow, arms crossed, eyes glowing bright as the sun set. She was close enough that Jim’s toes brushed her hooves.

 

"You're paranoid," she griped, letting one leg swing freely as she sat down. "I had an affair with the Trollhunter's son himself, and nothing came of that. I doubt any Trollmarket worms have the gall to babble to anyone, they don't really see us as a threat, or care either way."

 

Jim let out a humorless laugh, catching Nomura’s badly hidden smirk. 

 

"Okay, for one, never talk about your passionate love affairs in my vicinity ever again," Jim said, scrunching up his nose and faking a gag. "For two," he rolled onto the balls of his feet, leaning forward. "The main reason I have to deliver this bridge fragment to the museum in the first place, is because Draal knows your human form and might intercept you on your way there."

 

"Touché," she relented, her body stiffening up like an offended gargoyle. Jim thought that if she wasn’t bright pink, she could definitely get a job sitting on some old cathedral like one. He almost giggled at the thought.

 

Nomura gave him a weird look and Jim sighed again, slumping as his thoughts rounded back to the Trollhunter. He glanced down at the bog beneath them, covered in smelly, wet decaying leaves. The ground in that part of the forest was marshy because it was close to the ravine where Trollmarket sat, but the mud would help cover his scent for the night. _Hopefully._

 

"If you're so scared of being eviscerated by the Trollhunter, why don't you just sleep at the Order? The forest is open to any fool who wanders through," Nomura commented.

 

Jim furrowed his brow as he spoke. "You know the Order isn't a boarding house. If I don't work, I don't eat. They aren't going to keep giving me handouts."

 

Nomura growled low in her throat, claws tightening into fists.

 

"The Order is aware this job isn't sustainable. They just want to get rid of the competition," she said bitterly, giving him her meanest glare. "And you fell right into their game of chess, Little Gynt."

 

"I’m no one's pawn, Nomura," he said angrily, matching her glare. Jim dug his claws the tree, bracing his shoulders. "I've been doing this since I was ten, so _lay off_. I made it this far, and I'm not going to give up because you and Otto think I can't do it."

 

Nomura’s eyes flashed, and before he could regret his words, she hauled him out of the hollow by the collar of his cloak, before slamming his back against the trunk of the tree. Jim felt his knees buckle without traction, skull rattling from the impact with the wood. 

 

“How _dare_ you speak to me like that?” She hissed, nose to nose with Jim. 

 

“Nomura-”

 

Jim couldn’t get a word in edgewise, she pulled him forward and shoved him back into the hole of the tree. Jim’s neck bent painfully, and he bit his tongue, coppery blood coating his mouth. It made saliva pool as he was reminded of his hunger, though it probably wasn’t the most opportune time to think about food.

 

“Don’t forget your place,” Nomura said, Jim daring to peek through his skewed legs to catch her gaze. “We’re disposable - _replaceable,_ ” she spat, reaching into his hidey-hole to dig a talon under his chin.

 

Jim looked her in the eyes: toxic green deadly as any poison.

 

“No one would blink if I killed you right now,” she said, forcing Jim to lift his head to avoid being cut by her nails. “As long as the bridge fragment gets to the museum, no one would care who brought it. Few would notice you were even gone, and those who did, wouldn’t mind either way.”

 

Nomura withdrew her hand, crouching back on her haunches to check her claws for blood. 

 

Jim hugged his knees in an attempt to keep the warmth from seeping out of his body, heart hammering like it was trying to escape his ribcage. His eyes burned as he thought of Otto, because surely his mentor would care. He’d notice if Jim was gone...

 

Nomura saw where his thoughts were going, and cackled cruelly, stalking back toward him like a cat cornering a mouse.

 

“It would be weeks, at least, before your precious mentor figured out what happened to you,” she reaffirmed. “Otto’s always caught up in something, the vain tool that he is.”

 

Jim stared at her, disbelievingly.

 

“He’d notice-”

 

“No, he wouldn’t,” she snapped, directing her anger to the muddy ground below them. Nomura sat the paper bag down the branch, ignoring Jim’s flinch as she tugged his reinforced vest up, the hard material bunching up at his neck. 

 

Jim resisted the urge to wipe his eyes, even though tears of frustration threatened to spill. 

 

“Look at yourself, you stupid little worm,” Nomura urged, gesturing to his body. 

 

He was a _mess._

 

Jim slapped her hands away with a snarl, but deep down, he knew she was right. His ribs were becoming more pronounced by the day, and he could practically smell the gaseous stink of stomach acid and rot on his own breath. There were dark circles under his eyes and his greasy hair had seen better days. Deodorant only did so much to hide the fact that he wasn’t showering regularly. 

 

“You may care for your mentor, but remember, he’s an oblivious, self-centered fool,” Nomura spat distastefully. “Anyone with a nose can smell the bile on your breath. You’re wasting away, and no one is going to care enough to save you from yourself. You need to eat and sleep and _quit it_ with this prideful bullshit because it _is going to get you killed._ ”

 

“I’ll be fine, I always am aren’t I?” Jim said, pitching his voice to keep it from wobbling. “Once I start getting my delivery schedule back on track, I won’t have to miss meals and I’ll be able to pull in money again.”

 

Nomura gave him a skeptical look, seeing right through his doubtful reassurances. The other Changelings were shortchanging him and she knew it. Jim knew it too, but he didn’t want to go crying to Otto about it, especially with him leaving on an important mission. It would only make things worse in his absence. He just needed to get through the next few months until the bridge was completed.

 

Things would be better then, he convinced himself. There wouldn't be anymore deliveries or competition once Gunmar returned. The Changelings would get the status they deserve and rule the surface under their king. 

 

No more hiding, no more scrounging for bridge fragments, no more missing meals.

 

Jim’s belly gave a pleading growl, reminding him of the gnawing hunger threatening to dissolve his insides, arms coming to wrap around his aching midsection.

 

_He could do this._

 

Jim tilted his head, catching a horn on the hollow he was practically stuffed into at that point. He ventured forward with his thoughts, insecure at Nomura’s lack of faith. “So, you just basically think I’m in over my head?”

 

“What do you want me to say, Little Gynt?” Nomura asked, throwing her arms out so hard she almost lost her grip on the paper bag.

 

“I want you to believe in me!” Jim snapped. “I swear, _I can do this_ , Nomura.”

 

“We’ll have this conversation another time,” Nomura huffed out a breath, effectively cutting the argument short by shoving the paper bag in his face. “Here, Otto wanted you to have these.”

 

Jim snatched the sack from her hands and ripped it apart, mouth still hanging open to continue their spat, when cold metal fell into his lap. 

 

_Were those?_

 

Jim took the new throwing knives in his hands, unable to stop the smile from spreading across his face. 

 

The weapons were brand new, tempered perfectly and he could practically feel the tingle of Changeling magic pouring out of the tools. The metal was obsidian in color, undoubtedly spelled to withstand punishment - unlike his crappy old ones that broke apart upon impact with troll skin. Glasslike, volcanic rock based metals were very expensive; sought after for poison and hex retention.

 

Otto had to have spent a good chunk of money on them, more than Jim would probably expect to make in a year.

 

All because he offhandedly grumbled to his mentor about how all his knives were ruined in the spat with those trolls.

 

“ _Gross_ \- are you gonna cry?” Nomura interrupted, noticing the watery shine in Jim’s eyes. “Oh, you’re so gonna cry!”

 

Jim tackled Nomura with a hug, nearly sending them both tumbling out of the tree. She let out an indignant yelp, catching her balance by digging her claws into the burdened branch holding their weight. 

 

She retaliated quickly, fisting a handful of Jim's hair and physically peeling the boy off of her person. 

 

“Now who’s the best, most beautiful, radiant Changeling in the world?” Nomura goaded, shoving Jim’s face into the tree while his hands were preoccupied with keeping his new treasures from falling to the ground.

 

“Let go!”

 

“Say it-”

 

 _Ow!_ You're messing up my hair!"

 

"Bow to your superior, _worm-"_

 

“Never!”

 

Jim dropped his knives in the tree’s hollow, trading them for one of Nomura’s hooves. He flipped her off the branch and into a bush, listening to her cry of rage. _He was sure every bird in the forest fled from that one._ She recovered quickly, rising from the greenery to brush leaves off of her legs.

 

“Good one,” she clicked her tongue, and if looks could kill, Jim would be dead ten times over. “I’ll remember that next time we have drills.”

 

Jim swallowed hard, immediately regretting all of his life choices up to that point. Future Jim was going to hate him so much when he had his next training session.

 

Normally Nomura would’ve pounced right back in that tree and taught him a lesson, but tonight, she seemed distracted, her body tense like a coiled spring. She frowned, staring off into the treeline, before circling the clearing one last time.

 

Jim looked too, but he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Just trees and a few small animals. He blew some hair out of his face, ragged from Nomura’s ruffling. She turned away from Jim when he peered down at her.

 

“Get some sleep,” Nomura said, voice tight like she was holding something back. “There’s plenty of time before you have to be at the museum. You should be alert. Bular has been… restless as of late, so he may be there to supervise our progress.”

 

Nomura didn’t look at him when she spoke.

 

Small alarm bells went off in the back of Jim’s head, but he brushed them aside. “I know that…” he grumbled, packing his weapons into his backpack.

 

 _Are you sure that this is about Bular?_ He almost asked, before snapping his mouth shut. Jim quashed the traitorous thought, letting out a nervous chuckle. “Why don’t you sing me a lullaby?”

 

“Don’t push it, _worm,_ ” she recovered, switching to her usual demeanor. Jim curled back up in his hollow, hugging his bag of goods close as he dozed. Nomura stayed for a while, resting against a nearby boulder.

 

Nonetheless, Jim drifted to sleep with Nomura whistling a familiar tune.

 

 _In The Hall of The Mountain King_ was a classic.

 

* * *

 

For two weeks, there was no trace of the Changeling whelp.

 

If there hadn't been a light spatter of blood in the alley behind the public library, Kanjigar would have been inclined to believe the entire event was a fever dream drummed up by Blinky. But... it was there, along with the unmistakable scent of _Impure,_ a scattering of chipped throwing knives, and a few scant claw gouges in the plastic of several book slats.

 

Blinky and Aaarrrgghh's story lined up, so as Trollhunter, Kanjigar was obligated to investigate to the best of his abilities. _To answer every call._ A dutiful task was thrust upon him, and little of it would be rewarding.

 

Aaarrrgghh begrudgingly accompanied him, along with Blinky as he was never one to be left out of a conspiracy. The ex-general did not want to be there, and Kanjigar felt bad for pressuring him into partaking in the search, but Aaarrrgghh was one of the best trackers in Trollmarket and they couldn’t afford to leak the notion of Changelings to anymore parties.

 

His friends were already more involved than he would like, not to mention the tension that hung over the group like a thick fog.

 

Aaarrrgghh was quieter than usual during the hunts, solemn with a heavy weight to his stride. His ears were often folded back, the kindness gone from his eyes; replaced with clouded grief. It all reminded the pacifist of his time before defecting, and he never offered information unless Kanjigar directly asked for it. Aaarrrgghh was being evasive, but Kanjigar hadn’t the heart to call him out on it.

 

Blinky on the other hand, was fraught with anxious energy. The scholar bounced between baseless speculation and helpful advice, but seemed unsure of his position in the search. Anyone with eyes could see his nervous fidgeting.

 

It was frustrating to say the least. 

 

Scent trails stopped and started, which meant the boy was still active, but smart enough to cover his tracks. They would catch patches of the Changeling’s scent in alleys or around sidewalks, though they would cut off conveniently whenever they had a sliver of a path. The whelp seemed to be shifting forms only when he was in areas of heavy human traffic - parks, crosswalks, campgrounds... anywhere that human scents could intermingle, he used to his advantage, since they could not pick out his trail from the melting pot of other human odors that were in those places.

 

Kanjigar would give it to the boy, he was clever.

 

But not clever enough, as the outcropping of forest around the bridge was saturated with his scent. Honestly, Kanjigar would have never thought the whelp would be hiding so close to Trollmarket. It seemed like a dense idea, toying with danger like this was a game. Why on Earth the whelp chose to hunker down here, he hadn’t a clue.

 

Though, maybe that was the child’s plan, considering he was able to throw off the Trollhunter himself for almost three weeks.

 

“I can’t believe the boy’s been here this whole time,” Blinky voiced, clearing away some undergrowth. “How foolish, sneaking around the canals after what transpired.”

 

“And yet he still managed to evade us for weeks,” Kanjigar replied, touching a tree with some small claw slashes in the bark. “His scent seems to be the only one here consistently, which means that we may be able to catch him alone.”

 

Aaarrrgghhh pulled some polished chicken bones from a bush, along with a decaying apple core. _Yes, the whelp was definitely here often enough to leave considerable markers of his presence._

 

Kanjigar mulled over some thoughts, and honestly didn’t like the revelations on what was happening in Arcadia. He looked to Blinky, who had found a metal lockbox tucked under some roots at the base of a tree. If Bular had truly found a way to retrieve more whelps, it could mean that there were trolls from at least one heartstone tribe working with Gumm-Gumms. It indicated that there could be another war in their future.

 

Kanjigar shook the idea from his head.

 

“The worst part is, that we have no idea how Bular is getting younglings,” Kanjigar murmured to his companions. “It could be through magic, replacing whelps straight from heartstone incubators with false eggs before their parents can claim them.”

 

Blinky hummed at the thought while breaking open the metal box he had found. Inside were a few old letters, a skull from some small animal, and old carved figurines. “Yes, that is a possibility. Maybe some Changelings have already infiltrated tribes, or a fetch is letting goblins through to make the switch.” 

 

Aaarrrgghh, snatched Blinky away from the water stained letters, the scholar protesting weakly as they continued their trek. Kanjigar didn’t even get to wander a few feet before Blinky jogged up beside him, side-eyeing the situation with a contemplative look on his face.

 

“There is a silver lining to all this, as the humans say,” Blinky said, tapping his fingers together in thought.

  
“And what might be the bright side of whelps being stolen and changed into Impures?” Kanjigar asked.

 

Blinky cleared his throat, noticing another hidden chest in a tree hollow. “Well, in the old days, Changelings spent decades, if not centuries, training to prepare for their roles as spies in the overworld. Considering how young this whelp is, we can assume that Bular and his father are desperate enough for forces that they would throw inexperienced child soldiers into intelligence gathering positions.”

 

“Risky,” Aaarrrgghh agreed with a grumble, peeling the lock off of the second chest for Blinky. All it contained was filthy clothes, tainted by the Changeling whelp’s scent.

 

“Exactly, my friend,” Blinky said, closing the box back up. “This could suggest that the situation is not as dire as we may be led to believe.”

 

Kanjigar nodded, his thoughts of the boy on a loop. 

 

“It could also mean that trollkind’s exposure is on the line,” Kanjigar added, pushing past the looks of shock and uncertainty on his friends' faces. “The whelp’s scent is all over this place, and from what we’ve found, the boy most likely lives here, even though he has a familiar.”

 

“But that would...” Blinky stuttered after him. “He couldn’t have… _oh dear._ ”

 

“I think that he was found out by his human hosts, which is why he is residing here, rather than somewhere safe from us,” Kanjigar admitted.

 

They slid down an incline, which led to a thicker throng of underbrush and canopies. The signs of this part of the forest being lived in increased, from more mysterious bags and boxes hidden between branches, to rusty blades dug into bark. Some trees had targets painted on them for knife throwing, others were marked with unknown characters from a broken language. Blinky immediately became enamored with the writings, prattling on about a coded Changeling speak as they walked.

 

Kanjigar ignored him, searching the thicket for the boy, though the background static of Blinky’s ramblings did help to ease his heavy mind.

 

As they ventured further into the forest, a deeper stench soured the greenery. Aaarrrgghh’s fur stood on end, a grainy rumble vibrating in his chest. They both knew it well; the sickly sweet stink of rot. 

 

Of _famine_.

 

Even Blinky had fallen quiet at it, patting Aaarrrgghh’s side to pull him from memories of a time long gone. During the peak of the war and the dregs left over after Deya’s sacrifice, strongholds were seized - hidden brackets of whelp trafficking exposed. Kanjigar himself was part of the recovery operations, as were many of the older trolls, to spare the younger warriors from the true horrors of the war's wake. It was never all glory and battles, something he desperately wanted to keep from his son.

 

Behind walls, hidden in alcoves and in abandoned Gumm-Gumm camps, were younglings. Stolen from beneath heartstones or ripped from their parent’s arms. Often emaciated, rotting in their own decaying bodies, terrified of the world. Pulling screaming whelps from filth and cages still haunted Kajigar. Part of him still had nightmares of the ones who never recovered, who were too far gone to be saved or dead long before they arrived.

 

Famine was a peculiar scent that took time to set in. One that was unrecognizable, unless the individual bearing it spent an extended period in that area. 

 

The boy lived here and he was not well.

 

Kanjigar’s feet sunk in mud as they moved into a boggier portion of woods. He stole a glance back at his companions, noticing the slight sheen of green light beginning to flow across Aaarrrgghh’s grooved arms.

 

“It is fine if you decide to go back to Trollmarket,” he said, breaking the silence. “The boy’s scent is strong enough here that I will not need a second nose, my friend.”

 

“No,” Aaarrrgghh said shortly, shaking some leaves from his fur. He paused to inhale deeply, letting out a puff of air through his nose. “Too close. Slippery.”

 

“Yes, I doubt you will be able to capture the child and slip the necklace around his throat without assistance,” Blinky added, taking out the silver chain from his bag; a small gaggletack weighing down the loop. “In hindsight, we should have brought some rope or a burlap sack.”

 

A flash of blue-gray skin caught Kanjigar’s attention, and he held out his arm to stop his companions. Aaarrrgghh quickly covered Blinky’s mouth. 

 

Directly above them was the whelp, huddled inside the hollow of a large tree. 

 

The foliage on the tree was heavy, weighing down the uppermost branches and obscuring the whelp’s presence. If Kanjigar hadn’t been looking, he would have missed the boy altogether. Silently, the trio circled the base, extending their reach to deter escape attempts.

 

Through the leaves, Kanjigar could see the slow movement of the Changeling’s chest as he let out soft breaths. The boy shifted slightly, murmuring something indecipherable before relaxing.

 

“He’s asleep,” Kanjigar whispered, summoning Daylight.

 

Blinky rubbed his chin, moving closer to the Trollhunter to get a better look at the boy. 

 

“Now, how do we get him down-”

 

Kanjigar swung Daylight, embedding the blade in the tree’s trunk with a resounding clap of energy. It managed to sink halfway through before the concussive burst of magic exploded outward, sending splintered shards of wood in all directions; gutting the base from the inside.

 

They all heard the belated wail of terror from the branches, a few patches of skin flashing through the leaves as the child flailed in confused panic. Aaarrrgghh caught the log, pushing it in the opposite direction of the hollow opening, lest the whelp be crushed by the collapse. 

 

It fell to the forest floor with a resounding crash.

 

“ _Really,_ Master Kanjigar?” Blinky said angrily, narrowing his eyes. “You thought that _this,_ ” he gestured to the ruined clearing incredulously, “was the best course of action?” 

 

Just as Kanjigar opened his mouth to reply, the Changeling whelp scuttled out of the hollow like a rabbit flushed out of its burrow. Dazed, unstable and frightened, the boy shot towards the trio in a blind escape, undoubtedly unaware of what was going on.

 

The boy skidded to a stop in front of Blinky, bioluminescent stripes brightly flashing down his arms. The scholar fumbled with the spelled necklace in his hands, attempting to quickly throw it over the Changeling’s head. Kanjigar rushed him, just as realization began to dawn in the boy’s eyes.

 

The Changeling snarled in Blinky’s face, slapping the gaggletack from his hands. He attempted to unhook the bag from his back, and Kanjigar heard the telltale tinkle of blades from the sack. Instinctively, he slashed at the boy with his sword and the whelp leapt out of the way with a stumble, blade digging into the mud where he had been standing.

 

Unsteady on his feet, the Changeling scurried under Aaarrrgghh’s arm as he tried to snatch him, sliding under the behemoth’s legs and out of reach. Kanjigar grabbed the necklace from the ground as he ran, throwing it to a stunned Blinky.  The boy - wet mud streaking down his back and side - hopped on Aaarrrgghh’s back, using the leverage to catch a thin branch and swing up into another tree.

 

The chase was on.

 

Claws scuffed against bark, the Changeling uncoordinated in his leaps between trees. Kanjigar followed after him, nearly getting close enough to grab the boy’s cloak, which kept sending globs of wet mud into his face. Kanjigar could smell the scent of fear in the air as the Changeling faltered multiple times, misjudging jumps and unsure of his equilibrium.

 

The boy was still unsturdy and dull from sleep.

 

A branch collapsed from the whelp’s weight and he fell to a lower tier, air knocked from his body, legs kicking to get back up on a sturdier limb. Kanjigar used the opportunity to close the distance between them, hurling Daylight just as the boy readied for another jump.

 

It stuck fast to the tree in front of the whelp mid leap, and he crashed face first into the flat of the blade, dropping like a stone.

 

“Master Kanjigar!” Blinky shouted through his huffs as he caught up. “You could have killed him!”

 

“ _Could have_ , being the key words,” Kanjigar shot back, trodding after the whelp as he got to all fours weakly, gasping for breath, saliva dripping down his chin from dry heaving. “We have questions, whelp. Come quietly.”

 

The Changeling didn’t answer beyond a wince, choosing to scurry away, still wheezing. Kanjigar picked up his stride, but needn’t run to corner the boy. The forest was opening up to the canal, trees spilling off into bordered concrete. There was no where the Changeling could hide beyond this last stretch. 

 

Two glowing red eyes appeared from within the treeline, a body dark as pitch blocking the path to the canals.

 

“Questions?” Bular voiced from the darkness, reaching down to snatch the fleeing whelp’s ankle. The Changeling let out a squeak, Bular holding him upside down by the leg. “I’m curious to what you would want with an _Impure._ ”

 

Aaarrrgghh growled behind him and Blinky clasped his hands together, wide eyed.

 

Kanjigar’s armor shifted loudly, all the forest falling silent. “Where are you getting Changeling spies? What are you planning Bular?”

 

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Trollhunter.” Bular shook the Changeling whelp in his grasp and the boy hiccupped in terror, covering his face. “Why don’t we come to an agreement?”

 

“I do _not_ barter with Gumm-Gumms,” Kajigar replied quickly, Bular eyeing him critically as the gears turned in his head.

 

Bular threw the Changeling into the canal behind him, before charging Kanjigar. The warrior was quick enough to tussle Daylight from Kanjigar’s hand, heads clashing together as they faced off. Bular shoved him back, taking advantage of the Trollhunter’s unfortunate placement in the mud. He grabbed Kanjigar’s horns when the hunter tried to regain his footing, flipping him down into the canal with the whelp.

 

Kanjigar slid down the embankment, armor hissing against the concrete. 

 

Bular stood tall, red eyes burning like coals in the darkness. He made no move to pursue the Trollhunter down into the waterway, instead pointing a claw to the Changeling boy.

 

Kanjigar scrutinized the whelp, curled into a ball a few feet away, favoring his side with one hand.

 

“Kill it, and I’ll give you all the information you desire about the _Impures_ working under me,” Bular barked.

 

“Why?” Kanjigar asked, approaching the Changeling. He nudged the gasping thing onto it’s back with a foot, eyes wild with shock.

 

“It has failed me, exposing it’s nature to Trollmarket filth,” Bular growled. “I have no use for it.”

 

“So, you would extort me to dole out punishment? Set an example for Changeling kind?” Kanjigar picked out, paying no mind to Blinky and Aaarrrgghh, who slid down the incline to join him.

 

They were far away, enough so that they would be out of the crossfire when he and Bular inevitably dissolved into trading blows.

 

Blinky heard the backend of the conversation, giving him a concerned look. “Master Kanjigar, please-”

 

“Silence,” Kanjigar snapped. “Stay where you are.”

 

Blinky cried out when he summoned Daylight, pointing it at the abomination. 

 

Kanjigar stared down his sword to the Changeling whelp cowering at his feet. His eyes were wide with fear, the bioluminescent stripes along his arms flashing in distressed waves of blue. He trembled with abject terror, an expression on his face that no youngling should ever have.

 

The boy tried to lift himself up with his elbows, feet jerking as he tried to backtrack, away from his death; panicked breaths misting the cool night air in frantic spurts.

 

In moments like this, his mind couldn't help but go to his own son. Imagining him as the small, eager youngling who looked to him for guidance. Who would have believed him if Kanjigar had said he hung the stars themselves. Eyes full - not with terror like the whelp before him - but with hope and admiration.

 

Kanjigar shifted his sword in his hand, as he imagined just how easily Draal could have been in this whelp's place. A few decades earlier, and his own son may have been one of the unfortunate ripped from the Heartstone, marked as dead, as it was more merciful to accept than what they were turned into.

 

Impures. Creatures to be killed on site, for crimes they had no part in. The sins of the Gumm-Gumms placed squarely on their shoulders. A mark to bare until their deaths, because it was clear that they were no longer welcome back, nor wanted by the parents they were stolen from.

 

Kanjigar couldn't help but see his own son at his feet, terrified of him. Of one who is meant to be a beacon of what is right. A moral compass for trollkind to mirror. He hesitated to end a whelp's life, Changeling or otherwise. There was a thin line between what was right and what was thought to be right. Good intentions were in the eye of the beholder after all, and were what led to the defection of well meaning trolls to the Gumm-Gumm armies back in the old country.

 

In a moment of insanity, as Blinky would say, Kanjigar decided morals were not meant to be cherry-picked. If he saw some children as more deserving of life than others, then what separated him from his enemies who thought the same of humans?

 

It was a complicated moral dilemma that Vendel would berate him for, but he had made his decision.

 

"Go," Kanjigar huffed out, lowering his sword.

 

The changeling scrambled back, pupils still shrunken, as he fell over himself in an attempt to get to his feet. The markings on the boy's arms continued to flash with his panic as he rushed up the canal, and away from the Trollhunter.

 

Kanjigar turned his attention back to Bular, who had began to laugh at him from atop the canal.

 

"Pathetic!" Bular spat between his cackles. "How weak is your side, unable to fell a simple Changeling whelp?"

 

Kanjigar scowled at him, his grip on Daylight tightening. "You dare to call me pathetic, Bular? Throwing a child at my feet, for what purpose? A distraction? Can you not fight your own battles without petty tricks?"

 

Bular roared at him in rage, but just as he readied himself to leap at the Trollhunter, his eyes caught the Changeling bolting up the steep embankment.

 

Bular looked at Kanjigar, his lips twisting into a cruel smile. "Oh, Trollhunter… To care for the life of an Impure whelp. How soft, don't you know how replaceable they are?"

 

Kanjigar caught Bular's line of sight.

 

"Stop, Bular!" Kanjigar raced after the brute from the bottom of the embankment, watching helplessly as Bular cut the boy off as he reached the ledge.

 

It all happened quickly.

 

Bular reeled back his clawed hand, and struck the boy with all of his strength. Had he been human, Kanjigar had no doubt the blow would have taken the boy's head clean off of his shoulders. The Changeling's body was thrown back into the canal, bouncing on the concrete from the force of Bular's blow. His cloak was torn from his shoulders, fluttering to the ground some distance away. He rolled a few times before coming to a stop in a twisted heap of limbs, his back facing Kanjigar.

 

The lights on the Changeling's arms went dark, and the sharp tang of blood tainted the cool night air.

 

Bular sneered at Kanjigar, smug with the small victory over his ability to so effortlessly crush the Trollhunter's pride. Kanjigar widened his stance as his enemy drew the swords from his back. 

 

Bular leapt from the top of the canal with a roar, bringing both of his blades down to meet Kanjigar's sword. Metal met metal in a shower of sparks and screeches. Kanjigar propelled Bular backwards, the warlord growling as he threw himself back into the fray.

 

Kanjigar took a precious moment to glance back at Blinky, whose eyes were glued to the whelp, arms half-outstretched in his direction. Aaarrrgghh seemed ready to jump into action behind him, pacifistic oath be damned.

 

"Blinky, Aaarrrgghh! Retrieve the Changeling!" He parried a slash from Bular, who was now frothing at the mouth. "Get to Trollmarket, now!"

 

* * *

 

Consciousness is often described as something that returns gradually, leaving you in a blissful haze between wakefulness and sleep. For Jim, it returned in a snap; from black nothingness to sudden awareness. 

 

The first thing he noticed was the ringing in his ears. It was sharp and constant, like a fire alarm stuck on that one bleating note. There was no external sound, just the ringing.

 

The second thing he felt was stone. Warm living stone to be precise. He was in the arms of a troll, head lolling with no muscles working to lift his neck.

 

Jim opened his eyes, vision blurred and moving, like he was on a boat. A large troll with a mossy back dug a crystal into the wall under the bridge, drawing a semicircle of molten light. Jim licked his upper lip, copper coating his tongue.

 

Jim sucked air into his aching lungs, a sense of _danger_ gripping his heart in a vice. He went into fight-or-flight, jerking his body out of the blue troll’s grip. The troll dropped Jim in surprise, and he bolted.

 

He didn’t know what was going on, other than the impending doom pressing down on his shoulders. 

 

Jim heard nothing but the ringing as he ran. He couldn’t feel his body at all, like he was looking through someone else’s eyes. 

 

Two trolls were engaged in a brutal battle before him, grappling arms and bucking their horns together. The armored one swung a blade, and the other jumped back to avoid being cleaved in two. Jim ducked between them, sprinting into a large culvert pipeway. 

 

Jim’s ears popped when he entered the drainage network, eyes trying to adjust to the darkness. Suddenly, sound returned, overwhelming and echoing. Water splashed under his feet, the scent of stale graywater filling his nose.

 

Voices yelled out behind him, but Jim couldn’t make out the words.

 

He zigzagged into different tunnels, never slowing, even though his vision tilted and swayed. Jim wasn’t even sure if he was running straight, let alone what he was running from.

 

All he knew was _fear._

 

Jim could hear the thundering stone footsteps behind him, and at the sight of a small pipe, he allowed his knees to buckle. Quickly, he crawled through the small hole, shoulders bumping the top. Some part of him that was more awake than _Current Jim,_ told him that the trolls could not fit in after him.

 

He gagged at the smell of decaying leaves and filth, wet muck squishing under his hands and knees as he crawled forward, out into a small drainage basin. The small, square nook was thankfully dry, and Jim collapsed into a sharp corner, throwing his backpack to the side.

 

Above him, through a metal grate, the moon shone brightly beside the fading stars. 

 

The edges of his vision began to ebb black, and his body started to go limp against his will. Goosebumps ran up and down his body from the wetness sticking to his clothes.

 

Jim shivered, listening to the distant sounds of battle reaching down from the grate.

 

_“Yield, Kanjigar.”_

 

_“A Trollhunter never yields.”_

 

He blacked out for a moment, wrenching back to awareness to curl his knees close, letting his cheek rest on a sopping pant leg.

 

_“It’s me or the sun, either way, you’re doomed.”_

 

_“I may end, but the fight will not.”_

 

Jim finally let sleep pull him under. It was a wonderful feeling… to drown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone for reviewing last chapter! You guys are so kind! 
> 
> This took me a little longer than I expected, mainly because I rewrote it 3-4 times over the past month. Any thoughts? Mwahahaha!
> 
> Also, happy 3Below!


	3. Of Tricks, Trolls, and Human Woes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an act of arrogance changes the entire course of history.

Waking up in a drainage ditch was not what Jim had in mind, though he wasn’t sure what he expected when he most certainly crawled in there to pass out.

 

Jim groaned, closing his eyes against the bright morning light shining directly in his face from the overhanging grate. There was still a low ringing in his ears and _everything_ hurt now that the adrenaline from not dying had worn off.

 

Yay for concussions.

 

The underside of his nose was crusted with blood, which other than being gross, concerned him on a number of levels considering how hard he hit his head.

 

Jim hugged his ribs as dull, agonizing pain ripped through his right side, which had taken the brunt of his landing. He could barely move his arm, with his shoulder completely stiff from what had to be considerable bruising at best. At worst, some muscles could be torn, though he was fairly sure that it wasn’t dislocated. His hip had to be the most painful, and he couldn’t help but worry that he would not be able to get back through the pipes in this state, let alone be able to limp back to the Order. Bular had basically spiked him into solid concrete after all.

 

 _Why, why, why_ did he have to let himself be caught by those trolls?

 

Not only was he at risk of being killed by Bular when - no - _if_ he was able to crawl back home, but he exposed his entire kind’s prolonged existence to the Trollhunter. Centuries of secretivity and careful planning ruined by one Changeling delivery boy who had to stop and gawk at some trolls. It didn’t matter how close they were to completing the bridge, if Bular leaked that failure to Gunmar…

 

_Wait…_

 

“No no no no no!” Jim shot up straight, ignoring the pain shooting through his body as he frantically twisted around. He caught sight of his satchel near his feet, covered in dead leaves and silt. Jim scrambled forward, slapping the grit from it and pulling the flap open. 

 

“Oh, thank the Pale Lady,” he sighed, sagging back in on himself. The bridge fragment was still there, along with his disposable cell phone. 

 

With some effort, Jim stood up, flinging the sack over his uninjured shoulder. The world went completely black for a few moments, and Jim would never admit that he ended up puking in the corner of a storm drain. That could definitely be left out of his report. _What happens in the secluded drainage basin, stays in the secluded drainage basin_ \- and if Jim shed a few tears while vomiting up his guts after being beaten up by Bular and chased down by the Trollhunter, then he damn well deserved to.

 

After squeezing back through the pipes, Jim made his way back to the main entrance of the reservoir. He doubted any trolls were persistent enough to give chase in the daylight hours, especially when he could exit the sewer system relatively easy and be in the sun before they could blink. He limped along, flipping open his cell phone as he walked.

 

“Shit,” he hissed. There were twelve missed calls, none from his mentor who should be on his plane by now, but from the Order. Eleven were from the Changelings who had been anticipating the delivery of the bridge piece, and one was from…

 

“I am so, _so_ very screwed,” Jim mumbled to himself, pounding the phone against his concussed skull. The leader of the Janus Order himself had contacted him, _directly,_ and he had missed his call. A lowly Changeling could never even hope to bump shoulders with someone like Stricklander, let alone be tolerated for ghosting him. The only reason he was privileged enough to have known Otto was because of his dormant Polymorph status.

 

He quickly dialed his mentor’s number, tapping his foot frantically as he waited for the line to go to voicemail. Otto had to be on his plane to wherever by now, and the chances of him checking his phone were slim, at least until he was on the ground. As soon as he heard the beep, the words came tumbling out of his mouth without a filter.

 

“Otto, don’t freak out, but last night the Trollhunter kinda hunted me, and then Bular beat me to a pulp - but it’s okay! I swear I’m fine, I got away and lost them in Arcadia’s drainage system,” he said quickly, stumbling over the details, because he should have rehearsed what he was going to say before leaving a voicemail.

 

He blamed it on the concussion.

 

“Now, I need you to _please_ call Stricklander and tell him I will be there with the bridge fragment… _eventually._ I know you have a direct line to him, and I don’t want every Changeling in this hemisphere coming to pull a Julius Caesar on me because they think I’m a deserter-”

 

The recording cut him off.

 

Jim clapped the phone shut and dropped it back into his bag. Hopefully Otto could glean enough information from that, without realising the implication that he just exposed their entire kind’s existence to Trollmarket, and soon to the Tribunal. Jim groaned, cradling his pounding head.

 

He was having a bad day.

 

Jim shifted back to his human form, hand skimming the walls of the tunnels. His mind drifted back to the Trollhunter; Kanjigar the Courageous. 

 

Why did the Trollhunter spare him? Was it a lapse in judgement? An act of mercy from a soft fool? He couldn’t fathom why the Trollhunter, the upholder of all that was good, would go against his own laws. Changelings were unwanted and _meant_ to be killed on sight. That's how it was during the war, or at least what he had heard from older Changelings. Once they were taken, regardless of wanting to defect back home, they were unwanted.

 

There were no exceptions for his kind in that era, and there shouldn’t be now.

 

But staring up into his eyes, the troll towering above him, sword drawn… there was something there Jim just couldn’t explain. Sympathy was a foreign concept for Changelings, mainly because they had to fend for themselves from the moment of their rebirth. Though Jim had no memories of the Darklands, as Polymorphs were too valuable to be raised there and had no need to wait for a familiar, the world had never been kind to him.

 

Other Changelings hated him for a status he only had the potential for, even though he was reduced to a delivery boy until adulthood, when he could hopefully have all his abilities unlocked and be able to slip into society unnoticed. 

 

Jim’s lips thinned into a hard line as he limped out into the open air, the morning sun already warming the frigid temperature leftover from last night. _How could the trolls he was fighting for be more inclined to dispose of him than his enemy?_ Bular certainly didn’t hesitate, wherein the _freaking_ Trollhunter did. He shook the traitorous thoughts from his head. Once Gunmar returned, things would change. No more late night deliveries, running for his life or skimping on meals.

 

He could do whatever he wanted.

 

But what _did_ he want?

 

Jim rubbed his eyes as his vision began to double, instead of adjusting to the light. _Stupid concussion, messing with his pupils._ He walked further down the canal, still scrubbing his face when he fell over something hard.

 

With an _oof_ , Jim collapsed onto his bad side, because _of course._ “Ow, ow, owww,” he rasped, trying to dislodge his legs from…

 

A pile of rubble… of troll remains.

 

**_JAMES LAKE_ **

 

“What was…” Jim rocked to a crouch, peering over the rocks. Gleaming in the sun was the Amulet of Daylight. 

 

**_JAMES LAKE_ **

 

The voice called out again, and had he been in his troll form, his ears would be flickering to find its source. Jim leaned forward, gently picking the amulet up from the pile. It glowed blue in his hands, pulsing like a heartbeat. He could feel static in the air around him, as if all the past Trollhunters were cursing him for stealing the trinket from Kanjigar’s remains.

 

_Sorry, Kanjigar._

 

Jim wasn’t sure why it was calling out to him, but he doubted it was for something good. The faint sadness from the Trollhunter’s apparent death at Bular’s hands was quickly overshadowed by excitement. 

 

“I found the AMULET of DAYLIGHT!”

 

His face broke out into a giddy smile, and if he wasn’t severely injured he would be jumping for joy. 

 

“I found the Amulet of Daylight! My life is now complete! The Order can’t be angry at me for being late now! Because I found the Amulet of Daylight!” Jim almost shouted the words. He couldn’t believe it! All of his problems were solved. The Changelings would be free and he was off the hook with Bular!

 

Jim held the amulet up high, staring at the key to his future. _His people’s future_. He spun around, just about to slip the artifact into his bag, when he spotted six eyes peering at him through a low grate. 

 

His smile instantly dropped from his face. He scowled at the figure, limping over.

 

 _“You,”_ Jim growled.

 

 _“Me?”_ The blue troll stared at him in shock. “The amulet chose a Changeling!”

 

“What?”

 

“Oh, by Deya’s Grace, what was Merlin thinking?” The blue troll seemed to ramble, looking back for his absent counterpart, probably still searching the tunnels for Jim. He seemed to reorient himself, tilting his head as he thought, ignoring Jim’s presence. “Maybe it was fate? Yes, fate! Kanjigar spared the Changeling for a reason, so it must have been a whim constructed by some otherworldly force. Master Kanjigar has never disregarded-”

 

“I’m right here,” Jim interrupted, immediately regretting his decision not to sneak away while the six-eyed troll was on a tangent.

 

All eyes focused on him, blue hands wrapping around the bars of the grate. “The mantle of Trollhunter is a sacred responsibility, one which has never been passed to a Changeling before. Kanjgar allowed you to live for a reason beyond simple proof for Trollmarket. Though, I never expected for your purpose to be tied to the Trollhunter and his demise.”

 

Jim rubbed the back of his head, wincing as a migraine began to brew. _Great,_ now he had to deal with a delusional troll.

 

“I am not the Trollhunter, I’m just a Changeling who has to get back home before my people come and throttle me for being a no-show,” Jim said sternly, taking a little bit of pleasure from draining the hopeful look off the troll’s face.

 

“But the amulet called to _you_ ,” the troll frowned, gesturing to the item held close to Jim’s chest.

 

Jim scrunched his nose up at the troll.

 

“And you,” he gestured back at the troll, “Couldn’t just keep your mouth shut and, I don’t know, not tell the TROLLHUNTER that I existed.”

 

The troll frowned, ears flattening at the direction this conversation was taking.

 

Jim knew his human form had replicated his injuries. His face had to look like he got into a bar fight with a Stalkling and his limp wasn’t exactly subtle.

 

“All of this,” Jim pointed to his face with his two free fingers from around the amulet. “Is because of you. Because of _you_ and _your_ troll friends, Bular tried to murder _me!_ You  - _you_ tried to kidnap me last night, didn’t you!?” 

 

The memory came rushing back in pieces, of him escaping into the tunnels from this troll and the ex-general Aarghaumont on his metaphorical tail.

 

“Young Changeling-”

 

“Stop calling me that!” Jim shouted, causing the troll to snap his mouth shut. “My name is Jim, and you see this?”

 

Jim held out the amulet, just beyond the reach of the shadowed alcove in front of him, unless the troll wanted to lose a few fingers to the sun.

 

“I’m delivering this to _Bular._ I’m going home, I’m going to take a long shower, I’m going to eat, and then I’m going to pretend last night never happened!” Jim enunciated as clearly as he could, so the troll wouldn’t have any misconceptions about his intent.

 

“You cannot allow Bular to possess the amulet! You have no idea what he could do with it,” the troll pleaded. 

 

“Actually I do,” Jim remarked, purposefully walking past the grate and towards the beaten forest path above the canal.

 

“Wait!”

 

Jim turned on his heel as quick as his limp allowed. “What?”

 

“You can’t go back to Bular as the Trollhunter, now can you? You know he doesn’t deal with misunderstandings well,” the troll said nervously, tapping his fingers together. “There’s a way to, ummm, release the _curse_ of the amulet.”

 

Jim’s eyes narrowed at the way the blue troll mouthed _curse_ , like he ate something distasteful.

 

Although it sounded fishy, the troll was right. Playing games with Bular meant an instantaneous, painful death. Even if the troll was lying about the whole Trollhunter thing, the amulet _did_ call his name, at least part of it, which made him cautious. Jim wasn’t sure where the _Lake_ part came from, but there was always the off chance that it was a surname from his birth parents.

 

And he definitely _didn’t_ want it calling his name while in Bular’s presence.

 

“Okay, then tell me,” Jim rolled his eyes. 

 

“Uh, you have to come closer, I cannot risk anyone overhearing these words, lest there be dire consequences,” the troll stammered.

 

Jim decided to humor him. It wasn’t like the troll could do anything to him from behind the bars. He had throwing knives just in case anyway.

 

He kneeled down into the dark overhang of the protruding alcove, the troll beckoning him further with a crook of his fingers. Jim put his ear up to the bars as the troll leaned forward to speak to him.

 

“All right, Master Jim, was it? Now you must...”

 

Jim reeled back as a stone hand grabbed his arm, pulling it closer into the shaded alcove. In an instant, a second pair of hands shot from the grated pipe, a silver string thrown over his head. 

 

Just as he was reaching for his knives, the hands let go, and Jim fell back to the concrete; morning sun protecting him from further grabbing. His human form melted away in a swirl of smoke, leaving him exposed as a Changeling. He gaped back at the troll, and instinctively tried to rip the metal from his throat.

 

"I wouldn't do tha-" the troll tried to warn, only to be cut off by a scream.

 

The moment Jim maneuvered the necklace past his nose, it lit golden, like molten metal. Sharp, unrelenting pain burned Jim's palms, causing him to drop it like a heated wire. _What was that? What was that!?_ Jim's internal monologue screeched at him in panic.

 

Jim looked down to the pendant now sitting cooly at his collarbone.

 

A tiny, iron horseshoe hung from the cursed necklace, snugly dipping along with his frantic breaths.

 

Jim turned his attention to glare through the grate. "What did you do!" He shouted, flinching as his voice cracked.

 

"Well, I just couldn't let you give the amulet to Bular, now could I?" the blue troll snapped back, looking satisfied with himself as he put his hands behind his back.

 

Jim got to his aching feet, wiping some of the crusted blood from beneath his nose. "You'd risk exposing all of trollkind? How do you know that I'm still not going to run off to Bular? I have the Amulet of Daylight after all!"

 

The troll stood tall in the wake of his outburst, unfazed, like someone confronted by a yapping mutt.

 

"If you have a death wish, then do run back to your master, young Changeling. I can assure you, that Bular and his father have no use for a Changeling who cannot change," he drawled. "They would rather behead you than break that spell, however simple it is."

 

The troll had the audacity to wave him off. 

 

"What do you mean?" Jim stomped over to the pipe, the amulet clenched in his free hand. The troll turned his back on him, crossing his arms to make a show of ignoring him, though one of his ears was still turned to Jim, as if he was waiting for him to cave.

 

"Only a pureblooded troll can remove that necklace. Until you can convince one to aid you, I'm afraid you are trapped in your base form." He shifted slightly towards Jim, one eye peeking over his shoulder. "And Bular isn't exactly the charitable type."

 

Jim's shoulders slumped. He felt like he could cry, his heart leaping to his throat like a toad trying to escape. This was it, he was going to die. He survived last night just to screw it all up, five minutes from the best discovery of his life. The one thing that would put him on the road to a better future; free from the gnawing hunger in his belly, the lonely nights locked away, and the birthright of pretending to be someone he wasn't. Even if he miraculously made it back to the Order without being spotted, the second his fellow Changelings knew of his predicament they would throw him under the bus with a smile. 

 

Otto was gone, so there would be no voice of reason to protect him from Bular's vindictiveness.

 

Jim swallowed his tears, ignoring the burning of his eyes and the pounding in his ears. 

 

"I need time to think…" he replied to the troll's back, before shoving the amulet in his bag - right next to the bridge fragment - and painstakingly trekking up the walls of the canal. His injuries began wearing on him anew, bearing down in a seemingly divine attempt to drag him back into the waterway.

 

He didn't dare look back to see if the troll was still there.

 

* * *

 

Hurt didn’t even begin to describe what Jim was feeling. He trudged along the treeline, feet dragging along with every step. His injuries were catching up fast, and he was completely exposed to human eyes. Jim stopped by a wooden fence, gasping as his ribcage shot sharp stabs of pain through his lungs with every breath.

 

Jim used one hand to hold himself up by the fence, leaning to relieve some of the pressure on his injured hip. 

 

He couldn’t keep walking like this. Especially if he had to take vigorous shortcuts to avoid human attention. _Damned trolls… trapping him in this form, stealing his favorite cloak._

 

Jim had saved up for a whole two months for that cloak. Skipping the few meals he had time for and saving every Changeling pence he could get his claws on. Delivery boys were not paid well, in fact, Jim was sure the position was just made up to keep him busy until he hit his Polymorph inheritance. They had goblins, which were by far more efficient than he was and didn’t need a pay.

 

Jim sighed, plopping down on the trail. He wasn’t going to make it to the Order before nightfall, not when he could barely walk. Not without his human disguise. Even if he took every back alley and ducked behind backyard fences, there was no feasible way to make it across the city to headquarters without being spotted. It was ran out of a busy travel agency afterall.

 

“You got cocky, that’s what you did, Jim,” he said to himself, flipping the bag into his lap. “You could have been home free! Not a care in the world, but noooo…”

 

Jim took the amulet back out, thumbing the silver hands. It glowed softly in response to his touch, whispering his name once more.

 

**_JAMES LAKE_ **

 

“Shut up, you stupid piece of junk,” he growled, shaking it like a broken toy. “I am not the Trollhunter. I mean, _Changeling Impure_ here?”

 

The dumb thing was probably broken, he mused, eyes catching the engraving. Jim wasn’t exactly the strongest reader, being at such a low rank, there was little time for him to learn beyond a few written words here and there. Plus, secrets were best kept if the delivery boy was illiterate. 

 

Jim hummed at the words, seemingly struggling as they shifted between English and trollish. He guessed that Changeling script wasn’t exactly intended to be part of the amulet’s original design.

 

“For the gl-glory of Me-r-lain, Day-li-te is mine to-” 

 

A tire bumped his knee as someone turned the corner of the fence.

 

In front of him was a stocky human boy who was holding the handlebars of a bicycle, staring down at Jim with an open mouth.

 

The human screamed and Jim jumped to his feet.

 

Jim pushed the bike over and tackled the teen, slapping a hand over his face to smother the screams before someone else could hear and come investigate. 

 

 _Oh, Lady Creator, he’d been seen! Twice in twenty-four hours!_ Why not just shout from the rooftops that Changelings were in Arcadia, replacing babies and bringing about the Eternal Night? This was bad, so very bad. Being exposed to trolls was one thing, but _humankind?_

 

Jim looked to the stilling boy beneath him, staring back with wide eyes. _Great, now he was going to have to kill a human child._ That definitely wasn't going to attract attention from the Arcadia police force.

 

“I’m going to let go of you, but please, stop screaming,” Jim said, eyeing his bag that had been thrown away in the scuffle. _He just needed to get to his knives..._

 

Jim got off of the boy and slowly scooted back, the teen standing up and brushing grass off of his pants. There was a moment of silence between them, before the human broke into hysterical mumbles.

 

 _“Ohmygosh,_ are you a demon,” the human asked, reaching out to touch his horns. Jim leaned away, ears flattening. “Are those real? What are you? _Pleasedon’tkillme.”_

 

“Ummm,” was all Jim could say, blindly reaching back for his satchel. 

 

He yelped at the movement, a jolt of pain shooting through his chest. Instinctively, Jim curled into himself palming his aching ribs. 

 

“Woah, are you alright?” The human asked in concern, wiping some remaining dirt off of his hands, before offering one to Jim. “I’m Toby D. Or Tobes. Just don’t call me Tobias, unless you’re a teacher or something”

 

Jim eyed the hand, taking it wearily. He’d never killed anyone before, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to start with this kid. 

 

 _“Wow,_ you are _heavy,”_ the boy - no, Toby - commented, pulling Jim to his feet with a struggle. “What are you made of? _Stone?”_

 

Jim laughed at that.

 

Toby picked his bag up and Jim couldn’t help but wince when he heard the tinkling of blades inside. Toby handed it over with a metal-filled smile. _Braces,_ Jim surmised, though he’d never spent enough time around humans to see them in person before.

 

“Do you talk or are you like, mute or something? I think the stone joke hit, so you gotta understand me because this is the coolest thing to ever happen to me and I-”

 

“Please,” Jim interrupted, not knowing what to say to the expectant look in the teen’s eyes. He flung his bag over his back, thumbing the zipper as his mind roiled in protest. “I just need a minute, okay?”

 

“Oh, yeah, totally understandable,” Toby nodded along. “Buuuut if we’re going to continue this conversation, why don’t we head back to my house? I have to call in sick from school if we keep going, cause one more tardy-”

 

Jim tuned him out, frowning. It really couldn’t hurt, right? A dead kid attracted a lot of attention, but a teenager going off about magic and trolls? Jim doubted anyone would believe him, as long as he helped the boy along with a little more… _absurdity._ The more information he gave the boy, and the more outlandish it was, the less likely people would be to investigate.

 

Jim looked around to the brightening neighborhood above the privacy fence; cars beginning to zoom about and dogs barking in the distance. _He needed cover… quickly._

 

“You don’t have to worry about anyone else seeing either, my Nana went out of town to a bingo tournament, so she won’t be home for like, two days. They got a motel reservation and everything,” Toby assured, lifting up his bicycle. 

 

Jim could be killed if he let this human go. Absentmindedly, he felt the lining of his satchel, where an emergency knife had been planted. He had to decide; if he let the human go, he would be betraying everything his people stood for, but if he killed the boy, he wouldn’t have a place to hide. The Trollmarket trolls had discovered his forest hideout and he didn’t doubt that they would be swarming it once nightfall came.

 

“Are you hungry? I have food at home if-”

 

Jim's stomach growled and he bit his lip.

 

“Okay, let’s go,” Jim said shortly, before he could regret it. 

 

It would be rude to turn down free food.

 

* * *

 

After Toby told him that he smelled like raw sewage, Jim reluctantly allowed the human to help him up the stairs and into a small bathroom. Toby wasn’t too far off, considering Jim had been rolling around in whatever raw muck coated the pipes beneath Arcadia.

 

Jim had given Toby his armored vest and pants through a gap in the door, trading them for some gym clothes that the teen had apparently swiped from someone named Steve.

 

 _“Yeah, I stole them out of a jerk’s gym locker at school. I was going to dye them pink and then sneak them back in, but I think you need these more than Steve,”_ Toby had said.

 

Knowing the state of his clothes - stiffened with mud and other things he didn’t want to think too hard about - Jim had to agree.

 

After nearly an hour of letting steaming hot water run over his skin, watching dirt and blood swirl down the drain of the tub, Jim finally got out of the shower.

 

Sore and battered, he found himself sitting on Toby’s kitchen floor, pawing through the bottom shelf of the fridge.

 

“So, I hope your bullet-proof sandbag vest thing is washing machine safe,” Toby said, sitting on a chair he had pulled away from the small dining table.

 

“It’s not bulletproof, human,” Jim responded tiredly, clicking his claws against a plastic container of macaroni salad. Toby wordlessly handed him a fork, while Jim bathed in the cool air coming from the fridge and soothing his bruises.

 

“It’s meant to protect against knife wounds,” Jim explained, uncapping the lid from the cold pasta. “Trolls don’t exactly use guns.”

 

“Got it,” Toby said excitedly. “Secret troll society, world beneath our feet, _yada yada yada._ Some mean trolls are hunting you, but you’re safe during the day because they’re allergic to sunlight. _”_

 

“I mean, I wouldn’t put it that way,” Jim said over a mouthful of macaroni salad, suddenly remembering how much he loved food. _By the Lady Creator, he had been blessed._

 

As long as he kept feeding Toby outrageous information, he could keep raiding his fridge, while subverting any human search parties for trolls in the woods. All he had to do was leave out a few parts here and there. Like the _human baby switching_ and _the taking the place of people you love_ sorta things.

 

No one would believe the boy…

 

He'd sneak out when nightfall came, leaving only a pocketful of useless jargon behind. If Toby remained curious and snooped around, Bular would probably eat him before anything could come of it. Kids that went missing in Arcadia never came back. It was a well known bit of superstition among the adults in the town, which was far truer than they'd hopefully ever know.

 

“What happened to you anyway?” Toby asked, trying to reach into some cabinets above the counter. 

 

“I got between some trolls fighting,” Jim said, shoveling more food in his mouth, emptying the plastic container. 

 

“Ouch,” Toby acknowledged.

 

There was a horrible _crash,_ as pots and pans rattled to the floor. It was loud enough that Jim almost choked on his fork, still shaken from the previous night. Jim hit his head on a shelf when he jerked to his feet, biting clean through the utensil.

 

“Ohmygosh, I’m sorry,” Toby said quickly, scuttling down from his perch on the counter. “I didn’t mean to freak you out, I was just trying to get a pan and…”

 

Jim spat the fork out, looking at an awed Toby. 

 

“Wow, your arms light up,” Toby exclaimed. Jim self-consciously rubbed the stripes, willing the glow away. “That’s so cool!”

 

Jim flushed, unused to getting compliments, especially on something that was a liability to his stealth. Toby’s face dropped when the lights went dark a few seconds later.

 

“It only happens when I’m startled.”

 

_He hated to disappoint the boy…_

 

 _“So?”_ Toby’s eyes brightened again. “That is awesomesauce! You’re like a living flashlight! If there’s ever an emergency or if someone needs to find you or if they’re lost, you could come in like a flare.”

 

If his face wasn’t burning before it definitely was now. Jim covered it with a cough, snatching a carton of milk off the top shelf. He ignored the missing child picture plastered on the back - most likely a victim of Bular’s hunger.

 

Jim chugged the milk while Toby picked up the pans.

 

“You’re really drinking that whole pint of milk, aren’t you?” Toby commented, coming up beside him. The teen seemed to give him a once over, eyes hovering on the gaggletack necklace sitting innocently over his white gym shirt.

 

“What’s with the horseshoe? Are trolls like secret cowboys or something?”

 

Jim snorted milk out of his nose, crushing the empty carton. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Toby is such a great character that helps Jim keep things together in canon. He's a ride or die friend! I've had this chapter planned before I even wrote the first one, and its personally my favorite!
> 
> You guys have been so kind with the comments! This is the last of my backlog of chapters, so I don't know how quick the updates will be from here on out. 
> 
> My outline also ends here, so I'm going to be making it up as I go, sans a vague idea of what I want. So, now is a good time to voice anything you want in the story! I'm pretty flexible with suggestions.
> 
> So, please give me those life-giving comments down below! I live for them!


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